


3 a.m.

by engineerleopoldfitz (aching_for_distance)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-15 00:47:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4586634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aching_for_distance/pseuds/engineerleopoldfitz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there was one thing guaranteed to wake Fitz up, it was the sound of Jemma’s ringtone in the wee hours of the morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	3 a.m.

**Author's Note:**

> A short thing I wrote for amazingjemma on tumblr for the prompt 'Are you drunk?'

If there was one thing guaranteed to wake Fitz up, it was the sound of his phone ringing. More specifically, to hear Jemma’s ringtone – the guitar riff from Muse’s Guiding Light – in the wee hours of the morning. Rolling over with a groan, he snatched up his mobile before it vibrated off the edge of the nightstand, hurriedly swiping his finger over the answer button.

Before he could say anything, Jemma’s voice, high and giggling, echoed through the speaker. “Wakey wakey, Fitzy!”

Oh, hell. Fitz sighed under his breath. “Are you drunk?” While it was a relief to know she wasn’t calling because she was in some sort of trouble, a drunken Jemma never boded well for him. In fact – “Where are you?” He could hear music in the background but it didn’t seem too loud. She had to be out with Skye, which was dangerous in itself. As much as Fitz liked her, Skye was one of the least subtle people he knew. When Skye got into trouble, everyone in the immediate vicinity would know it. He was shocked they’d even managed to get off base.

On the other end of the line, Jemma held her hand up in front of her face, still giggling. “Yup. Ten fingers on one hand. That’s-“ She burbled out an outright laugh this time- “Definitely not normal! Fitzy. Skye and I are down in the Vault. Come play!” Things were still weird with her and Fitz, but finally seemed to be looking up, and Skye’s stash of alcohol was letting her forget everything else that was wrong.

The private party had started to feel lonely, despite it devolving into the equivalent of a teenage girl’s sleepover with alcohol and loud music, confidences and girl talk, and she’d found herself craving her best friend rather than her best girlfriend. Thankfully Skye hadn’t seemed offended when Jemma declared this and started fumbling for her phone. She’d only given Jemma a wide, beaming smile and a nod of approval that a more sober Jemma would have recognized as pleased and perhaps a little mischievous.

Skye and Jemma, having a drunken slumber party in the vaults. Fucking hell. That might even be worse and Fitz knew from long experience that a very drunk Jemma had absolutely no problem with cutely harassing him until he did whatever she wanted. Ironically, the thought made his heart ache. It brought back memories of a simpler time: before Coulson and the Bus and HYDRA and the med pod. Before hypoxia and Jemma going undercover. When they’d been FitzSimmons and Fitz would have bet his life that she’d walk through fire for him, same as he would for her.

Instead, he was left to trail around the Playground like an abandoned puppy, looking for a new owner to devote himself to. That wasn’t fair, he reminded himself. Jemma had left because she’d thought it would help. He just wished she’d told him that herself instead of hearing it from Mack after he’d confronted her.

“Fiiiiiiiitzy! Did you go back to sleep? I miss you. Come down here, so I don’t miss you anymore.” Somewhere deep down Jemma was waiting for him to refuse her, but the alcohol was muffling her against the pain of that knowledge. He still hadn’t said anything, alarmingly quiet on the other end of the line and Jemma’s good mood dissolved abruptly and swung down into obvious sadness, bringing Skye’s attention sharply over to her. “I miss you,” she repeated, but this time it was soft and sad. “’M sorry. I should let you sleep.”

“No!” Fitz blurted it out, breaking out of his astonishment. She missed him. She wanted him there. It was so unexpected and out of the blue that Fitz wasn’t the slightest bit prepared and he didn’t even know what to say. Certainly he couldn’t turn her down. Fitz scrambled out of bed, grabbing his shirt up off the floor and a pair of socks to guard his feet from the concrete floors. “I’ll be right there.”

Fitz met Skye in the hall outside the Vault, the specialist unexpectedly clear eyed and smiling and he eyed her suspiciously. She wasn’t the slightest bit drunk. “You set this up!” he accused, but there was no heat behind it, still high on the thrill of Jemma wanting him around. Even if Jemma only wanted her friend back, it was more than Fitz had thought he’d have with her again.

Skye beamed at him and nodded, “It didn’t take much to get her to call you. She’s been talking about you all night anyway.” She gave him a little bump with her elbow and continued on, calling back over her shoulder as an afterthought, “You can thank me later!”

Skye had said they needed more booze if Fitz was joining them and Jemma didn’t think anything of it. When the door clanked open a few minutes later, she was immensely pleased to see Fitz – even as the sight of him was like a punch in her stomach. He’d always seemed so young to her, and just so very Fitz, but god, the shorter hair and scruffy jaw did wonderful things for his face. His blue eyes somehow seemed brighter, too, and not for the first time Jemma wondered how she’d overlooked just how bloody attractive Fitz was for so long.

It was the hesitant expression that killed her, uncertain and shy in a way Fitz hadn’t been since the Academy. He made his way down the stairs and Jemma managed to get her to her feet, swaying, limbs loose and unsteady. Her mood hadn’t totally rebounded after the blip on the phone, but she’d meant what she said. “Hi,” she greeted, wobbly on her feet as she crossed over to the bottom step where he’d paused. His fingers were knotted together anxiously, the last thing Jemma wanted.

“Hey,” Fitz replied. He was nervous, unable to read Jemma’s wide eyed expression. All he knew was that she missed him and wanted him here. Perhaps that was all he needed to know, but he still didn’t know what move he should make, if any. She was drunk, after all. A moment later, Jemma took the choice out of his hands. With him on the step, she was inches shorter, but she caught his fidgeting hands and separated them, stepping into the space she made.

Jemma’s arms wrapped around his waist, her head landed on his chest, and the contented sigh she let out might well have been the most beautiful sound Fitz had heard in nearly a year. His hands flew out in surprise, hovering in midair for a long moment of uncertainty, but Jemma only held on tighter. It made the last step an awkward maneuver, but putting them on equal ground let him get his arms properly around Jemma’s shoulders. “I’ve missed you, too.”


End file.
